


Aftermath.

by elvenwolf



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, M/M, Post-Season 4, Smut, a small sequel to the prequel bc AU where the book doesn't exist, i think i twisted actual historic facts, it's so sad i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvenwolf/pseuds/elvenwolf
Summary: “Keep me here.” James repeats. This time louder, almost pleading.





	Aftermath.

            James wants to hate Silver. He really wants to. For his betrayal. For pointing a gun towards him that wasn’t fired but felt like it was, like the bullet had pierced that bubble of trust that took so long to build, and it was so fragile still. In times of war everything is delicate, and things like trust, fragile by nature, become even more so. He wants to hate him for hiding the fact that he had been looking for Thomas in secret, pushing him away from a quest that would have saved him from his darkness; and probably many others form their fates. But then he remembered, “ _wouldn’t you trade it all to have Thomas Hamilton back again?”_ , John had asked, looking into the distance in what James interpreted as caution, as if John feared James’ reaction at the sound of Thomas’ name; but now realized it all had been a test. A test to understand how far gone James was, to decide whether it was a good idea or not to confess of his secret.

            But how could James hate John when despite the war, despite the alliances that hung by a thread, despite everything, he had risked so much to find what James would have traded his own life for. How could James hate John when he had seen the expression on his face right before the gates of the plantation closed behind him. A grim, heartbroken, painful expression. John had held his head low for the first time since he became Long John Silver, black long hair trying to hide wet eyes and a clenched jaw.

           “ _I don’t care._ ” John had said.

           “ _You will. Someday you will._ ”

           And James realized that “someday” had already come. John cared. John had cared for a long time. John had traded himself for the sake of James’ future.

 

 

           The first days at the plantation had been a blur and somewhat had also managed to imprint themselves into James’ memory. Thomas had laughed in pure delight, leaning in to kiss James’ tears away and blinking to get rid of his own. James had drowned himself in Thomas’ details. His impossibly blue eyes, his blond hair and soft smile. It was just as he used to remember every night sleep eluded him because the bad weather rocked the ship too roughly, and the hammock’s violent swaying threatened with throwing him face-first onto the floor. Now, gray skies and strong winds always reminded him of Thomas. He also took in the new details. The wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, the soft beard, the musculature developed after months and months of working on the fields; and the rough voice, raspy and low, as if he had gotten used to whispering or not talking at all.

           The first night James is silent, afraid that any sound leaving his mouth could be stained by all of the horrors he had committed and that it would push Thomas away. And Thomas just lays there, also quiet, over his side and resting his head on James’ shoulder and trying to keep his mouth shut, because it’s so difficult to cry without making a noise and he knows that the moment he asks one of the thousand questions that wrestle inside his mind to be the first one his voice is going to break, and he’ll cry and sob and almost scream because he was so alone, so scared of everything that he no longer has any of his old confidence left to even pretend he’s alright. So they fall asleep like that, surrounded by a silence so loud it seems to mute the sounds of nature outside the hut.

           The second night Thomas kisses James. Slow, sad, breathtaking kisses that make James close his fists in frustration. A soft nip at his lower lip, and James feels grief and the need to hug Thomas until he realizes that he can cry until all the desperation that taints his soul disappears. A hard bite, almost painful, and a broken gasp and James feels need and a fire he thought was long extinguished since the last time those flames burned him. Then, the dam breaks. He pushes Thomas against the nearest wall, slow steps and a soft sigh escaping from Thomas’ red and wet lips as the back of his head hits the wall with a thud. There is grief and there are hands grabbing everything they can. There is pain and there are low moans and bites on each other’s necks. There is joy and genuine smiles and there are slow hands drifting down James’ back, pulling him closer. There is relief and comfort, and there are lips creating a path from Thomas’ neck up to the sensitive spot behind his ear.

            And then there is a low sob, so quiet it could have been mistaken for a sigh; but Thomas feels the wetness on his neck. He pushes James backwards, slowly, until the back of his knees reaches the edge of the small cot, and he makes him sit. He kneels between his legs and presses his forehead against James’, just like they used to do back at London. It makes James squeeze his eyes shut, unable keep on witnessing the devotion he is seeing on Thomas’ eyes because his own darkness is still screaming and struggling to get free on the back of his mind. It makes him feel shameful and guilty.

           “I’ve done…” James whispers, voice rough and weak. Thomas kisses him, stops him from finishing the confession.

           “Horrible things, I know.” He nods, pulling ever so slightly away from James and letting him stare with big, ocean-colored eyes. The question floats in the air as James tilts his head to the side in confusion and a fear he expected to feel, but he’s not ready to deal with.

           “Your friend, the pirate, he told me.” James flinches.

_Your friend._

           He rests his elbows on his legs and uses his hands to hide his face. Thomas doesn’t move, he just sits on his heels and waits, ready to act if James’ quick breaths turn into a frenzy heaving. James has so many questions.

_When did they speak?_ His breath hitches, lungs asking for more air while his sobs hinder his attempts to inhale properly.

_How many secrets has John kept from me?_ He presses his nails against his shaved head, grits his teeth and holds his breath in an attempt to calm down.

_What does Thomas think now of me?_ He breathes again, loud and desperate, like if he had spent too much time underwater. He replays every single moment since he had reunited with Thomas and tries to find a hint of wariness, a sign of discomfort, even a cautious gesture; but he finds nothing. It is disorienting.

_What did John say?_ He rubs his face and a second pair of hands brush his tears away. Thomas is looking up at him, eyes painfully honest and bright even under the dim light of the oil lamps. James looks back and finds an open book inside Thomas’ eyes, one that he hadn’t been allowed to read again for so long. And not a single word has changed. Thomas Hamilton is there, a bit older, a lot more tired, but there nonetheless; looking at him with the same devotion and passion he always had.

           Thomas cups James’ face in his hands, softly caressing his cheeks with his thumbs and James lets himself drown again, but this time he focuses solely on his eyes. A couple of minutes pass and suddenly he blinks, a small gasp leaving his lips in realization. It’s like a needed slap on the face. He _loves_ Thomas. He had hidden that feeling so deep within himself that he thought it would be like falling in love all over again; past buried so deep it’d be impossible to dig out. But he couldn’t be more wrong. He had always loved him, that fire was still roaring. So much time surrounded by water, and the flames were never quenched.

           James watches Thomas slip his hand under the cot and drag out an old wooden box. He fishes a letter from it and moves the box back under the cot. Once he hands the letter to James he moves from his uncomfortable position on the floor, sitting behind a very confused James.

           “Read it.” He whispers, hugging James around the waist and resting his chin over his shoulder.

           James could recognize that handwriting anywhere in the world.

_I have witnessed some of the demons that haunt him. Others I have been told about, sometimes by him, mostly by others. But there was one, one in whose name a war was started, that was still a stranger to me. I could not comprehend how someone could risk their own life and the lives of many others for one person. But then I saw and heard him when he finally spoke of that part of his past and I understood that it wasn’t a war in the name of one person. It was a war in the name of loyalty, of freedom, of love. Your absence became his darkness and it consumed him to the core, he was going to unconsciously drag us all down with him. I know that it is an outcome he would never forgive himself for causing._

_I hope your presence clears away that darkness. I hope he forgives me, and even if he does not I will rest knowing he will not die in his attempt to avenge the death of a man that is not dead._

           James doesn’t try to stop the frown, nor the tears. He doesn’t stop Thomas when he kisses his shoulder, then his neck, and finally his cheek. He doesn’t stop anything. He lets it all happen. He lets the confusion and the newfound truth wreak havoc inside him. He lets Thomas drag him backwards and then up onto the bed, cover them both with a thin blanket not really necessary for the dry heat of Savannah. He lets the exhaustion finally kick in, and barely registers a pair of caring hands folding the letter back and throwing it under the cot by the wooden box. Thomas knows James will want to read it again and again, until he memorizes every single word.

           James lets himself sleep, but he does not rest.

 

           He is awoken by the noise of rushing steps over wooden floors and voices, triggering the part of him that used to wake up to those sounds when the lookout on watch up at the crow’s nest warned the crew of another ship’s approach in the middle of the night. A hand presses over his chest, laying him back on the cot, and Thomas’ eyes ground him back to reality. He is no longer in a ship, he is no longer a captain.

           The morning goes by fast. Thomas teaches him more about their tasks at the plantation, and just like the first two days many people step back when he walks by. Stories and rumors tend to be exaggerated, and James knows what the ones about Captain Flint say. His name is tied to a very specific reputation. It makes people lower their gazes and step back, even on the plantation, where it was clear that Captain Flint was no more. So distorted were some of those stories that he had found himself listening to people who were not aware they were speaking to the one and only Captain Flint while narrating them. But watching the workers at the plantation step back makes him remember those situations from the past, so he unconsciously draws a small smile with amusement; and it’s not like those who still fear Captain Flint and now have to live with him are exactly put at ease when they see the small, creepy smirk on his face as he walks by. Thomas has to fake an itch on the back of his head so the collar of his shirt hides his laughter. Because he knows, he knows when James is far away and when his smiles are covered in those few but good memories.

            Night falls over them with its comforting fresh air and their duties are done for the day. Men and women gather on different huts to speak of almost forgotten pasts and expectations of the future, mostly altered by the effects of the rum. It’s all an indistinct chatter mixed with nocturnal insects and the clatter of plates. James sits on the wooden platform that surrounds the huts, his back resting comfortably against the wall of his and Thomas’ new home, listening to him finish his dinner next to him. James thinks he could get used to it if Captain Flint stopped missing the sea for a goddamn minute. _Keep dreaming_ , he says to himself, or maybe Flint does.

             But it definitely is a routine way more flexible than he thought it would be. There are only a few guards keeping watch and they do not seem to be very vigilant, James realizes, as he sees them converse between them and even with some of the workers. Anyone who wanted to escape had a very easy way out, they just needed to let the night hide them and jump over the gates, but he guesses that this place was made precisely for those who wanted the world to think they’re dead.

             He suddenly thinks of John. He wonders what his words were when he came back from the forest alone. A part of him wants to believe he told everyone he was dead, it would do wonders to John’s reputation, and if the world believed Long John Silver had killed the infamous Captain Flint he would have the power to become the most feared and respected pirate king. He could survive. The new reputation could even give him allies so convinced of being on the winning side that they could actually be on the winning side for real. And then there’s this part of him that remembers his lowered head and tortured expression three days ago. It plays on repeat and mixes with the letter he sent Thomas and all of the glances and lingering touches between them once genuine trust found a place in their friendship. James starts spiraling into an inevitable cycle that he knows it’s going to have him hostage for a long time.

            “You’re not here.” A soft voice states beside him. James lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and looks at the blue-eyed man.

           “Keep me here.” It’s a whisper, barely audible, but meaningful enough to make Thomas’ hands falter as he absently plays with a pair of twigs. He tilts his head, searching for something in James’ eyes that confirms what he thinks the ginger means.

           Thomas stands up, forgetting the twigs and waiting until James does the same before walking inside their hut and then closes the door behind them. There are no locks since James hasn’t been on the plantation for more than a month yet, but Thomas is pretty sure their little and passionate scene in front of everybody when they reunited was enough to coax people into knocking before entering.

           “Keep me here.” James repeats. This time louder, almost pleading.

           Thomas understands. He walks towards him until James is pressed against the door, the height difference making him tilt his head up. A hand runs from his cheek to his mouth and James parts his lips open out of instinct, shivering when Thomas brushes his thumb a bit hard against his lower lip. There’s a small, different smile on his face, it makes James remember Lord Thomas Hamilton.

           The hand runs lower, lingers at the front of his neck, testing James’ reaction. When James closes his eyes and gasps at the slight increase of pressure over his throat Thomas knows what he needs.

           The third night Thomas fucks James into oblivion. He makes sure his hands press and grab and hold onto the right places, eliciting sounds out of James that make him groan involuntarily. He makes sure to cover James mouth from behind when a particularly hard thrust forces a hoarse, loud cry out of him. It’s addictive, he thinks, the way James still reacts to his touch. Thomas slows down, thrusting in and out of James agonizingly slow while he watches him drag his nails down the wall, losing his strength, and resting his hands on the bed, needing a steadier support than only his knees. James lets his head fall, heat pooling on his lower stomach, and moans when Thomas grabs hard at his hipbones to stop him from moving. He needs it faster, harder; but he also needs to relinquish control, and it is clear by Thomas’ slow and steady pace despite James’ silent begging that he no longer has it.

            A hand runs up his back, holding onto his shoulder in deliberate measured movements, and James braces himself but he’s not fast enough to quiet his loud cry in time. It reverberates inside the hut, and there’s a pause. The hand on his shoulder squeezes harder, this time pulling him up on his knees once more. His back presses against Thomas’ chest and another moan leaves his lips when he grabs his neck, hard but not painful.

           “You’re loud.” The way Thomas groans against his ear makes James close his eyes. It almost sounds like an accusation, and Thomas’ voice carries an authority that has James gasping for air to stop himself from coming on the spot.

            Thomas lets James grab his waist to anchor himself and seizes that support to use his other hand to cover James’ mouth. James sucks and licks at his fingers, and Thomas gives in to James’s pleading. He pulls out almost completely and thrusts back with force. He gives James exactly what they both need, fucking him hard and fast, his cock deep inside him. James gasps and moans, a trail of saliva sliding down the corner of his mouth as Thomas keeps it open with his fingers. His neglected cock is wet with precum, and Thomas intends to leave it exactly like that.

            “Let go, James.” Hot breath ghosts over James’ neck and he whines, starting to thrust back and feeling the last threads of self-control snapping one by one. Teeth sink at the juncture between his shoulder and neck and James is shaking. “Come for me.”

            James tries to double over and his orgasm makes him open his mouth in a silent scream, but Thomas keeps him in place, his hand still around his neck and the other now leaving bruises on his thigh. There’s cum on his chest and on the sheets and Thomas moans at the sight. His hips stutter and he grits his teeth when he feels James clench and relax around him. It pushes him over the edge. He thrusts in once more and stills, coming deep inside James. They need a good few minutes to catch their breath, not wanting to move away from each other.

            This time James sleeps and rests, physical exhaustion adding to the emotional.

            There are no voices and rushing steps the next morning, and James finds out he has awoken too early, before the sun comes out. There’s a privacy in the air that encourages him to leave the bed, wash last night’s mess off his body and sit outside. It’s only half an hour before people start to wake up, but he feels an almost forgotten satisfaction watching the dawn from there. There’s nothing similar between a dawn at sea and a dawn at land, but at the same time it’s identical. He feels a fleeting but especial comfort.

            It goes away as soon as a guard approaches him at a pace he doesn’t know if it’s cautious or dangerous. His body tenses, hand unconsciously reaching for a gun that is no longer there. The guard interprets the gesture as what it is, and raises his hands in a pacific motion. James waits until the man sits down next to him but doesn’t relax one bit.

           “The war has started.” James raises his eyebrows in both surprise and concern, thoughts of John Silver flooding his mind. The guard brushes his long hair back and sighs, briefly looking at James before directing his eyes to the horizon. “I was paid to inform you about its progress. I break no law here; it’s not the first time outsiders want to deliver messages to the inside. It’s allowed.” James shakes his head, clearly indicating that’s not something of interest at the moment. “The pirates found a way to arrive to Nassau before the Spanish and the English did, but no one can speculate about what will happen from now on.” James understands what he means.

            “The Spanish and English reinforcements are using the same path to arrive to Nassau?” The guard half smiles, not surprised at James’ perspicacity. He finally looks at James and the ginger sees mostly fatigue and a bit of sadness.

            “It would be great if they finish each other at sea.” James lets out a soft laugh, matching the guard’s.

             It was no secret that Spain and England weren’t on the best terms. After all that had happened in Nassau and the fact that they were still hell bent on claiming the island it wouldn’t be a surprise if a battle were to take place should they meet on their way to Nassau. Or even one of them siding with the pirates to finish the other, and then breaking the alliance. James could even picture an everybody against everybody battle. But as the guard said, it didn’t make any sense to speculate.

             James frowns, frustration clouding his mind once more. It’s a strange and destructive thing to wish to participate in such a war, but he had practically fueled the fire at the beginning. Besides, he is well aware of his skills as a strategist, they had saved him and his crew more than once; he knows he would be of help. However, he is also aware of how things must have changed since John’s betrayal, and doesn’t have the slightest idea of what is going on between the slaves and the pirates; if they are still allies or if Madi broke the deal after knowing what John had done.

            “Who gave you the information?” James asks. The guard stands up, smiles warmly and starts to walk away.

            “I was also paid to withhold that part.”

 

            The fourth day the sky is covered with clouds but the air still blows hot. James learns that the name of the guard is Robert and that he also was a pirate once, but only because his father’s influence had him exiled and, eventually, hunted down. He also realizes he’s grown restless, a feeling of dread rising from inside him, looming around the possibility of John dying during the war. Thomas notices it too after listening to his hurried whispers as they worked the fields, the sound of metal against earth making it even more difficult for Thomas to hear him.

            Thomas knows what is going on between James and John Silver. He had seen it in James’ face when he spoke of the pirate, he had seen it in the way John wrote about James. And above all, he had heard some workers sharing stupid rumors about the war because they thought Long John Silver’s tears were of defeat; and they weren’t wrong, defeat painted those tears, but the war had nothing to do with it.

            The sun is almost setting when James asks Thomas for the fifth time what’s wrong. And for the fifth time, Thomas shakes his head and keeps working, drops of sweat mixing with dust and creating a dark path down his forehead and shoulders. James decides to wait until they are alone, but when they are done Thomas disappears from his sight. James recalls seeing him for a second, finishing his dinner in the company of some workers, but he avoids his eyes.

            Thomas is not jealous. He was never a jealous man. Thomas is scared, terrified in fact. He has also thought of how possible it is for John to die out there. He doesn’t know the man, but he’ll be forever grateful for what he did. James would have probably died long ago, victim of his own darkness, if it weren’t for John. He became such an important part of James that he is honestly scared of what would happen to him if someday they learn about the death of the pirate. Thomas is crumbling just like James had, and it’s all crashing down on him with the force of a storm.

            He is still dealing with having James back, still processing the way fate plays its game. He is still trying to cope with the death of his dear Miranda. He is still recovering from the painful experience of watching James broken and crying, unable to deal with all of the emotions he was feeling at the same time. Right now, he feels that overload too. His lungs need more air but he can’t breathe deep enough, there are tears blurring his vision and he notices how much of a bad idea it had been to come into the hut because James’ scent is everywhere and it clouds his mind. He _needs_ John to survive.

            Freckled arms surround Thomas’ waist and pull him up from his position on the floor. Thomas yelps in surprise. Those same arms guide him to the bed and James sits next to him, holding his face and looking at him with a despair that makes Thomas cry harder. James frowns, not knowing how to deal with the situation since he had never seen the blond man engulfed by so much grief. So he decides to lean in and leave a short, chaste kiss on Thomas’ lips. Thomas grabs him by the front of his shirt with such force he almost falls off the cot, but when Thomas hides his face against his neck there are no more tears, just a succession of quick breaths and a broken hiccup.

            “He has to live.”

            James needs a couple of minutes to process what he just heard. And then another couple to connect the dots, and suddenly it all makes sense. He bites his lips, resisting the urge to whimper. The world will not know a soul as pure as Thomas’.

            “He will, I’m sure of it.” James promises, drawing patterns over Thomas’ back and anchoring himself to the sound of his breathing. He can’t lose control now, not when Thomas needs a safe place to let go of everything. James needs to be that safe place.

            So he promises, again and again, that John will survive. That he has survived horrible things. He tells stories of their adventures together, rejoicing on the sound of Thomas’ soft laughter every once in a while. He speaks of the time the crew welcomed him by basically dragging the poor man to the whorehouse and introducing him to “Blackbeard”. He speaks of how he had saved him from drowning in the ocean when the crew did nothing. He speaks of how he lost a leg to protect them all, and how there wasn’t a single member of the crew who wanted to wait outside Howell’s cabin when he removed the damaged bones and flesh. All of them stood by him, not knowing how else to thank him for what he had done, and promised to take care of him. He speaks of the day they managed to kill a shark, and Thomas laughs a bit harder at that.

            But they know those promises exist only to comfort them. John has as many chances to survive as he has to die. They don’t know, and there are times when not knowing is even worse.

           

             It’s been three months. Three months since they promised to believe what they needed to believe, no matter how wild or surreal it may be.

            “James.” He hears Thomas call him at his side and hums, eyes focused on the strange patterns on the earth every time he presses the seeds down into it. “James.” He answers with another hum and he hears a loud sigh. “Jesus… James!”

            “Christ, what?” He answers, imitating Thomas’ tone of voice and hearing the nearby workers snicker. Thomas presses his lips together to hide a very obvious smile and points with his head towards the man that is approaching them. James turns around in time to see how that man, well dressed and clean, is pocketing a small but quite full bag of coins.

            “Come with me.” The man says lightly once he reaches them. Money surely changes one’s mood.

            Thomas and James look at each other, confusion painting their faces. That man spoke and walked like he had some degree of authority over the place, but he wasn’t the owner; they had seen the owner and it was not only much younger, but also a woman. They follow him and anxiety starts bubbling in their veins as they realize they’re being led towards their own hut. The man opens the door and with a wave of his arm signals them to get inside. Then, he just leaves, closing the door.

            There’s something on the air that they can’t quite put a finger on what is it, but it’s nerve-racking.

            “What the fuck?” James murmurs, squinting his eyes almost comically.

            “I don’t know.” Thomas sits on the cot, rubbing his hands together to brush off the thin dust. He absently thanks the colder weather for not making the dirt stick to their skin with sweat.

            “No, seriously.” James insists, mimicking Thomas and clapping softly to shake the dust off. “What the fuck?”

            “I don’t know!” He whispers loudly.

 

            They wait in silence, trying to discern voices or other sounds that could give out a hint on what was happening, but outside the world sounds just as it is supposed to sound. James leans on the small window, baring his back to the door, and lets his eyes rest while he rolls his shoulders to ease the tension. If this is the prelude to their imminent deaths he’s going to go down with a steady heartbeat.

            It’s not the sound of the door opening what makes him turn around, it’s Thomas’ chocked gasp.

            Fuck the steady heartbeat.

            He sees long, black hair. Blue eyes, tired and wide open. He sees an iron boot and a leg. He sees his own former captain coat. He sees John Silver and time freezes. The world shifts and changes and stops spinning and suddenly the seas are roaring in his mind. He hears the door closing but doesn’t see John pushing it with his hand. He just stares, lungs working a bit faster and pulse beating loudly behind his ears. No one moves, no one dares to. The sun is setting behind them and James’ shadow mingles with John, but the orange light hits over John’s eyes and they look like a flaming ocean, and James thinks he could be consumed by that fire and not give a single fuck about it.

            Thomas can’t help it. He really, really tries to stop himself, but the growing smile keeps working its way onto his face. He watches in silence all the things John and James are telling each other without noticing, without breaking eye contact. He could do cartwheels right there, but that would spoil the moment.

            John is the first one to react after what seemed like hours. He walks forward, easier now than he had the last time James saw him use the iron boot. He had gotten a new one, a better one, and his leg had healed completely. After the first step the sound of iron against wood pulls James back to reality and he realizes he’s not dreaming.

            James pretty much launches himself towards John. The first touch confirms the heavy reality of it all and the moment John envelops him with his arms they’re breathing like if they had swum an ocean; and it certainly felt like they had. He breathes into John’s hair, the pressure of his left arm around John’s waist increasing to pull him even closer, and buries his right hand in the annoyingly soft locks. John is in awe, definitely not expecting that reaction, but he feels warm and alive and he hugs James so hard he hears his own shoulders crack. Thomas wonders if people can develop actual jaw problems from smiling too much.

            When they pull away it’s only so they can press their foreheads together. They breath into each other’s mouth, trying to calm down. John wants to speak, to say so many things, but he can’t pick one to start with. He had prepared a speech, it was all perfectly scripted in his head, the apologies, the news, everything. But the moment he saw those fiery eyes again, the moment he had James all over him, gasping in pure relief, he simply forgot everything.

            “You’re alive.” It almost sounds like a sob, and it makes John want to fall onto his knee and hold onto him for dear life. Instead, he nods and lets his hands rest at both sides of James’ neck.

            “I’m alive.” He breathes out and James cracks a smile. John wants to scream.

            “I told you.” James lets out a breathless soft, low laugh. John raises his head when he hears a second one follow, and sees –truly sees- for the first time the man that had changed James’ universe completely, _twice_.

            “You told me.” Thomas agrees, looking back at John and letting himself become an open book for him to read. John’s mouth twitches up in a foreign smile, one that pretends to thank Thomas, to tell him he understands, to tell him he’s become aware of things he tried to ignore before. Thomas gives a slight nod, smiling back.

            He stands up and walks towards them. Despite John and James being still so close to each other none of them move as Thomas leaves a soft kiss on James’ cheek, and a warm squeeze to John’s shoulder. He makes to leave the room, but John catches his wrist before he can reach the doorknob.

            “No, don’t.” The whispers sound like once voice, both pirates speaking at the same time. Thomas blinks in confusion.

            “There are things both of you should know.” He explains. Thomas nods and walks back to where they are, aware of John’s shaking fingers.

             When they sit on the cot it feels weird. Fucking weird. John is sitting with his good leg bent under him, the iron boot resting against the floor, James mirrors his position, facing him; and Thomas is sitting with his legs bent at his side and resting on the bed, the three of them forming a triangle.

            “Is it over?” James is the first to ask, watching as John fidgets with the rim of the coat, unsure of how to start.

            “The war is far from over,” he shakes his head. “but we’re no longer a part of it.”

            “What do you mean?” Thomas’ question makes him look at the man. There’s a calm in his voice that doesn’t match the energy that almost seems to drip from his eyes. John find himself staring for too long without answering.

            “Our coalition with Madi and her people was about to blow up.” He admits, guilt flooding his eyes. He hears James sigh and nod. He had guessed that much. “But we were already on Nassau, so the tension was doubled by the uncertainty of when would we have the Spanish and the English upon us. We knew, however, that Rogers’ remaining forces had secured themselves inside the fort. It was Madi’s idea to take it.”

            There is a hint of pride and affection on John’s voice that makes James smile slightly, saddened by the damage their relationship had suffered but warmed by the way John still carried her in his heart.

            “Whether it was the lack of soldiers or the ignorance of the tunnel’s existence, no one was guarding them. Maybe they didn’t know we were on the island so they weren’t exactly vigilant.” John briefly reasons. “Madi led the attack and the fort was ours in less than three hours.”

            “Queen Madi.” James smiles, his mind remembering the authority, intelligence and skills that woman had within herself. Thomas mimics the gesture, noticing the regard in which they held her. John looks at them both, heart beating a bit faster.

            “There probably were more soldiers on the island, but obviously not enough to even raise their voices against us.” Suddenly, John snickers. “Some of them had even shed their uniforms to be able to eat and sleep without being killed in an instant. Nassau was almost roaring with anger after learning of Roger’s actions now that they weren’t surrounded by his army. There were enough resources for all of us so I guess that little victory and the food supplies eased the tensions between us for a while.” A hand rests on John’s arm, stopping him from picking at a small scratch on his hand. For some reason, he smiles apologetically at Thomas and clasps his hands together. The heat Thomas’ skin naturally radiates feels nice on his bare arm, and he finds himself thinking of that heat warming James’ body. John needs much of his willpower to suppress a shiver. “Three days later the fleets arrived. It was then when we realized that Rogers had left a gift for us.” James raises his eyebrows, suddenly remembering.

            “The barricade.” John nods, the memory of that unexpected advantage making him smile.

            “All those ships that sank to the bottom of the ocean and our ships, the ones he sunk, they were all still there.” James frowns slightly, remembering the despair he and Madi had felt when they thought the sea had swallowed John. He also remembered the number of hours they stood by the shore, expecting to see him in one of the boats that carried the survivors. “And with Rogers not being able to report back to his superiors, no one else knew about it.”

            When John speaks of how the balance tilted in their favor thanks to the barricade and the damage is caused to the ships, to the considerably number of enemies fallen thanks to the fort’s cannons reach, and when he describes the battle that took place in the beach he is visibly agitated, the memories shooting sparks of adrenaline through his veins. James tries to fight the urge of touching him, of tucking that rebellious strand of hair behind his ear. He does not fight, however, the utter surprise when Thomas does it for him. It was both an instinctive act and a way of showing James he didn’t need to stop himself from giving in to what he obviously wanted so much. John’s voice stutters in surprise and this time he does shiver, once more thinking of those gentle gestures directed at James.

            The sun is fully set when John finishes, so immersed on the story that he doesn’t remember Thomas lighting up some oil lamps before the hut was swallowed by darkness and then returning to his previous position. James is aghast. He had expected months of battles, a constant and exhausting push and pull; instead both the slaves and the pirates had retired after realizing there was only so much they could do for Nassau. After a couple of weeks, a group of five of Madi’s fighters and five of John’s managed to infiltrate in the beach, right where the Spanish had settled their camp.

            The sea roars at night in a way that dulls people’s judgment, maybe because the absence of light heightens the sense of hearing, but the waves crash louder than ever. It’s a great way to quiet the footsteps over the sand, the metallic hiss of a sword being unsheathed, the grunts and curses of both predator and prey.

            “In all honesty,” John had said, “it was more of a theatrical act than an actual plan, but it worked.”

            Killing the Spanish ringleader and both his second in command and another man they didn’t really know what his title was had been, all things considered, easy. The hard part had been retreating into the forest and dragging back into that same tent a couple of English dead soldiers without being noticed. If the stereotypes about pirates hadn’t played such a big part in the Spanish’s plans they probably wouldn’t have thought that the safest place for the leader’s tent was right at the edge of the beach, where sand and forest met.

            They had realized, maybe later than sooner, that they no longer fought for Nassau, at least not entirely. They fought for themselves, to carry out their revenges, to scream to the world they will no longer be enslaved and abused because of the color of their skin, nor condemned and hung for raising the black.

            So instead of waiting for their little act to have its effects and then attack while their enemies were distracted, they decided to use the cover of night and fall back, giving even more credibility to their little trick because the next morning there was no sign of them, and the Spanish had a dead leader and two English corpses in their camp. For all they knew, the Spanish and the English were still fighting amongst themselves, one side accused of treason, and the other condemning them for creating an excuse to take them out of the battlefield.

            It had been clever, really clever, both James and Thomas had expressed their surprise, but at the same time it felt empty. James knows he wouldn’t have acted so mercifully with his and Madi’s people, he probably would have sent them all back into battle the next morning. And that’s why he’s glad he wasn’t there. John knows it too, and an exhausted sigh leaves his body as he closes his eyes.

            “I’m tired of fighting.” He states before James can express his thoughts out loud. “We all are. If we hadn’t retreated our alliance would have evaporated long ago; and too many of us, if not all, would be dead.” James flinches at that, the thought of John’s lifeless body sending a pang of pain to his chest.

            “You mean the coalition still holds?” Thomas asks, eyes wide in disbelief. John has the audacity of smirking, and Thomas wants to use James as a stick and beat the pirate into a pulp until he erases that stupidly attractive grin off his face.

            “Madi will give us a home amongst their people, and in exchange we will establish a commercial trade small enough to not draw attention over the island, but big enough to supply us all.”

            Thomas nods, not realizing the small twitch of James’ mouth. The ginger had witnessed the exchange, and had seen the glint of curiosity shine on Thomas’ eyes. But something else catches his attention before he can lock eyes with the blond man.

            When John grabs his right hand he’s warm, and there’s a tremor on his fingers that confuses him. John frowns, takes a deep breath and finally dives into James’ eyes. There’s a significant pause in which they can clearly see John is struggling to find the right words. He opens his mouth, but closes it back again, eyes tired and guilty. He doesn’t know how to say it, but James understands.

            When John watches the man in front of him squeeze his eyes shut and fill his lungs with air he thinks that’s it, this is where James stands up a leaves. But there’s a strange smile tugging at the corner of Thomas’ lips and before he can even look back at James he’s pulled forward by the same hand he is holding.

            John gasps loudly against James’ lips, so shocked that his eyes stay open for a few seconds. But when he closes them, when he starts kissing back, it all explodes into flames. Need mingles with desperation and he feels the dizziness that comes with the thrill of finally experiencing something that had corrupted his dreams for so long, waking him up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and with an ache between his legs. Hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer, rough and almost painful tugs illustrating the sorrow and relief and heat James is feeling; and when he succumbs to James’ nipping and biting and tastes his tongue he lets a small moan escape his lips, instantly being swallowed by James. He hears a heated exhale next to him, and the flames seem to burn hotter, scorching the three of them.

            James thinks he’s going to pass out. John is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and every time he gasps he shakes in need. There’s a third hand on the back of his neck rubbing and slightly scratching, silently encouraging him and James is sure Thomas and John are going to be the death of him. When John needs more he slides his hand to the same spot Thomas’ is, but instead of pulling apart he lets his fingers entwine with Thomas’ and both of them pull James closer to John.

            It’s all so intense, so heated and raw, it just feels so fucking good that John can’t even bring himself to think about Thomas being involved. In fact, he finds out he wants more, more of James and more of Thomas and more of everything.

            The moment he pulls away to catch some air he sees James turn his head to the side, and Thomas kisses the ginger with such eagerness that makes him moan at the sight. He had imagined that scene a couple of times for the last few hours, but watching it was proving to be almost too much. He feels himself completely enthralled by the way James gasps into Thomas’ mouth and how their tongues move together, in full display for John. There’s a tug at his coat and he lets James take it off and it goes flying somewhere in the small room, which he realizes is hot enough for him to fear it will explode into actual flames.

            When James and Thomas pull away John is actually panting for air. Thomas sits back, gasping, but not before pushing James towards John with his hands. The force with which James reclaims John’s mouth pushes him back until he’s pressed against the cot, James’ body settling between his legs and finally pressing against him, creating a delicious friction that coaxes a moan out of John.

            The sound of voices close to the door paralyzes the three of them. They know there’s no fucking way they can look composed even if they stop right now before everything escalates. The voices pass by, completely ignorant of what’s happening inside the hut, but they still make James to jump off the cot and walk to the door to bolt it. John breathes in and out, trying to steady his wild heartbeat, but the moment he looks into Thomas’ heated stare he groans and throws a hand towards him to grab the man at the exact same time the blond leans down over him. There’s not a single hint of hesitation in their eyes, John doesn’t even think about it, about kissing that mysterious man he barely knows, he just knows he wants to, _needs to_. Thomas’ is gentle, testing John’s reaction, and when the pirate bites his lower lip to coax his mouth open he groans and suddenly he understands the need he saw in James. It’s messy and rough and John knows Thomas’ strong grip on his shoulder is going to leave marks, but he hears James moan somewhere near them and he finds he couldn’t care less.

            James is unbelievably hard, the scene unfolding in front of his eyes making him press his hand against his cock, trying to ease the pressure. He walks towards the cot and goes back to his position between John’s legs. When the pirate feels their hardness press together he whines into Thomas’ mouth, and James’ lips latch onto his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses that make him throw his head back in a silent plead for more.

           Thomas pulls away to take off James’ shirt, and John does the same with his own. At some point one of them, maybe two, get tangled in the mess of clothes and breathless laughter fills the room. They decide to completely separate so they can get rid of all of those annoying barriers, and when they come together again the touch of skin on skin has them panting.

           James looks at John, wonder and realization written on his face, he can’t understand why had they denied themselves of that. John is breathing hard under him, eyes clouded with lust and something more that he doesn’t want to name. His left hand is buried in Thomas’ hair, slightly pulling and massaging as he lavishes his neck and shoulder with kisses and bites. It’s a breathtaking view and James wants to remember it forever.

           There’s a sharp intake of air as Thomas’ sinks his teeth hard on John’s neck, the pain and pleasure sending shivers down his spine. James seizes the moment to put two fingers on his mouth, and John gets the message instantly. He covers them in saliva, purposely holding James’ look and listening to Thomas’ curse at the sight. He watches James tense suddenly and blink rapidly trying to stop his eyes from fluttering close in pleasure. Thomas free hand has silently slid down James’ back and between his cheeks, slowly circling his hole. John moans around James’ fingers at the thought of it.

           When Thomas straights up on his knees to kiss James he pushes his finger inside the ginger up to the second knuckle in a swift move and James moans long and low, it’s a new sound for John and his own eyes close reveling in the pleasure of it. James pulls his wet fingers out of John’s mouth and leans down, capturing his mouth while he drifts his hand between his legs. It’s difficult, but James manages to focus on his task while Thomas starts a slow pace inside him with two fingers.

          “Just fucking do it, _please_.” John begs, shivers making James and Thomas shake slightly.

          James doesn’t wait for a second petition, he pushes two fingers inside John, feeling the tightness and the heat and he realizes he’s groaning along with John. Thomas moves until he’s kneeled behind James so he can stretch him open properly. He can’t stop watching how two of the most feared pirates in the world are slowly coming apart at the seams, thread by thread, moaning and panting into each other’s mouth. It’s almost intoxicating, it’s driving Thomas mad.

          James pulls out of John and grins at the groan of complaint, he stretches over him to reach for the lamp that rests over a wooden box by the bed and dips his fingers in the oil. He passes the lamp to Thomas and hears him groan as he finally gives some attention to his neglected cock while he spreads the oil over it; James does the same and watches John wet his lips while looking at his hand stroke his cock, legs spreading even more almost unconsciously.

          Thomas pushes James down with his hand until he’s on all fours above John and positions himself. It’s slow but steady, he buries himself inside James to the hilt, ripping a chocked moan off of him and John feels he’s so needy he could cry. When James cautiously moves to position himself Thomas pushes him back against him, earning another moan as his cock goes even deeper, and making John whine as his actions pull James away from him.

          “Thomas, please, _please_.” John begs, and Thomas’ teasing grin disappears as the broken pleads make his cock twitch inside James.

          “Fuck.” He mutters, pulling away from James just enough so he can move freely.

          Listening to Thomas curse has always been one of James’ weak spots, and so he whimpers as he finally, _finally_ starts pushing his swollen cock inside John. Thomas doesn’t know how many times John has laid with a man, if any at all, and so he musters all of his willpower to stay still as James slowly enters John, gritting his teeth when James’ pleasure makes him clench around Thomas.

          It’s intense, so fucking sinful and lewd that they are sure that, should hell be an actual physical place, they are going to enter through the main door with Satan himself bowing before them.

          John lets go of the breath he was holding in when he feels James’ thighs against his ass, being as deep as he can inside John. It’s so tight he feels he could cum right there, and he all but growls when John pulls him down for a messy kiss. James bottoms out, the action pushing Thomas deep inside him, and the sensation is so overwhelming he feels his eyes water in pure, raw pleasure. He’s shaking, unable to move at the moment, so Thomas, once again, does it for him. Hard but slow he thrusts into James, the movement pushing the ginger inside John.

          John moans so loud that they all suddenly stop, extremely aware of how there can’t be one single fucking person in the plantation who hadn’t heard that. Thomas bursts into a fit of breathless laughter, blush creeping into their faces. James closes his eyes and smirks at John’s shocked expression.

         “And I am the loud one?” James manages to say with the smuggest voice he can make despite having a cock deep inside him and John around his own.

         Thomas’ eyes glint, a wolfish grin spreading on his face and only John sees it, immediately realizing they’re fucked, both figuratively and literally.

         He thrusts inside James hard enough to shove him deep inside John, and both of them cry out, loud and shamelessly.

         “You were saying?”

          John is still struggling to get some air into his lungs when James starts a fast pace, fucking John and fucking himself on Thomas’ cock. A trail of uncontrolled moans and gasps fills the air. John arches his back when James slightly changes the angle and he fucks him _just right_ , forcing a sob of pleasure out of his body. Thomas moans low, definitely not expecting such sounds from Long John Silver, and he loses himself on the feeling. He leans over James, supporting himself on his hips and sinks his teeth on his freckled shoulder, giving in and pushing in and out of James without mercy. They don’t try anymore to quiet their moans, it’s impossible. John throws his head back and lets James grab his hair and hipbone for support, panting and moaning under the ruthless pace they’ve set. He feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the magnitude and surrealism of the situation switching his brain off and forcing him to act out of primal instinct. His left hand grabs Thomas’ wrist on James’ hip, trying to tell him, warn him, that he’s just so fucking close.

         Thomas bites his lip and fucks James even harder, the slap of skin against skin mixing with moans that they no longer know who they belong to.

         James’ hips stutter and he shoves himself as deep as he can inside John, groaning loudly and long against his neck. John feels the warmth fill him and if he wasn’t already falling over the edge he definitely comes completely undone now as James grabs his cock and strokes him two, three, four times before John is once more arching his back and biting James’ neck so hard to not scream he is sure it will bruise. Cum paints their chests and Thomas lets a broken moan leave his lips as James’ constant clenching and relaxing drives him headfirst into his orgasm.

         When they pull away between ragged pants and whines and manage to lay down on the way too small cot they fight sleep off. They don’t want to waste whatever time they have left before John has to leave.

         Thomas molds against James’ side, used to the comfortable position, and before John can get off the cot he all but throws him against them, drawing a soft laugh out of James. It’s odd, but not awkward. Quite the opposite. The moment John mirrors Thomas’ posture and rests his head on James’ shoulder his waist is being enveloped by his arm, and it feels just right. He can’t explain it. It’s not the distracted patterns being drawn on his skin, nor the way Thomas’ eyes look at him, tired but satisfied and warm; it’s not the strangely familiar feeling either, as if they had been doing this for a long time. It’s all of that put together, condensed into a single moment. John wonders if he’ll be able to leave that place without succumbing to the suffocating heartache he is already feeling.

         When morning comes they still lay awake. John is the first one to stand up, slowly getting dressed and painfully aware of the way James is looking at him. He grabs James’ old captain coat, looking at it with different eyes now. He sighs and moves towards the cot once more. James and Thomas haven’t moved an inch, but their bodies are tense. They don’t talk, they know that if they do they will break; and when John leaves they don’t know if he accidentally might take with him some of their broken pieces.

         So John just leans down and kisses James. It’s soft and sad, it’s also an apology and a thank you, for everything. It’s something he still doesn’t want to put a name to, but James understands, and he kisses back confessing exactly the same. When they pull apart James blinks the tears away, and John’s heart breaks a little more, something he didn’t think possible. When he leans down again is to kiss Thomas, and once again he is saying thank you. There’s a sad smile on Thomas’ lips as they kiss, and John needs to pull way now because it’s too much, because he needs to leave before it’s too late.

        James holds his breath and doesn’t let it go until the door closes behind John, and right then Thomas is hugging him, gritting his teeth and feeling his own eyes fill with tears as James breaks into sobs and something he thinks it’s an endless string of John’s name.

 

        When John is outside the plantation he takes a deep breath, holding onto the reins of his horse but not ready to mount yet. He lets himself finally cry. He was right about Thomas, he is the cure of all of James’ evils and even if it hurts he lets a weak smile mix with his tears and leaves that place to go back home, feeling something between broken and repaired; because Thomas is fixing James, and James is part of John, so Thomas is also fixing John.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really intented to write something light and short, but ended up becoming this weird thing. Tell me if I made any mistakes, English is not my first language. Enjoy! Comments are truly appreciated!


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